


Maybe This Time

by sunsetmog



Series: Maybe This Time [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Play, Daddy Kink, Kink Discovery, Kink Negotiation, M/M, thumb sucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-29 00:42:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/pseuds/sunsetmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I just want to call you <i>Daddy</i> sometimes," Louis says again, and his initial bravery has buggered off somewhere, leaving just the frantic beating of his heart and the rest of this bottle of Jack Daniels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe This Time

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to olivia_circe for her amaaaazing beta, despite this not being her thing. Any remaining mistakes are my own. 
> 
> And thanks to hermette, mrsronweasley, and bunnymcfoo for reading this every ten words. I love you ♥ ♥

The first time Louis asks for it, he's half-way to being drunk, and all the way to being exhausted, and he's been failing to ask for it for so long that sometimes it feels like his chest is about to explode. 

"What?" Harry asks, like he hadn't heard what Louis had just said. 

"I just want to call you _Daddy_ sometimes," Louis says again, and his initial bravery has buggered off somewhere, leaving just the frantic beating of his heart and the rest of this bottle of Jack Daniels. He can calm one with the remains of the other, and then hopefully wake up with zero memory of this whole experience. He pours himself another drink, half a tumbler of Jack, and doesn't bother reaching for the Coke. 

Harry pushes the Coke across the table without looking at either a: the bottle, or b: Louis' glass. He just keeps staring at Louis with this tiny furrow between his eyebrows, like he's trying to figure something out. 

"Say something," Louis says, after half a minute where he hasn't topped up his glass or downed his shot or said anything of any particular substance. 

"I don't know _what_ to say," Harry says. "Daddy? Like—when?"

Louis shrugs a shoulder. There's a part of him that's never scared of asking for what he wants, or doing what the hell he likes, but there's another part of him that gets hard imagining Harry taking control and making him call him _Daddy_. That part of him doesn't get an airing all that often. Or ever, really. 

"Lou," Harry says, and he uncaps the bottle of Coke and tops up Louis' glass. He doesn't watch what he's doing properly, and it splashes on the table and on to the corner of Louis' magazine. 

Louis swallows. "I get off on it, all right? It's a thing. And, cos, you know, we—" he waves his finger between the two of them, in what he likes to think is a fairly universal sign for, _we're together in that we shag on a fairly regular basis in a fairly consistent no other sexual partners kind of a way, only we're not really putting a name to it because that would be too complicated._ "Anyway, I thought that maybe you might, like, see your way to doing that for me. Once or twice."

Harry looks like he's considering it for a moment. He steals a sip of Louis' drink, and his fingers brush Louis' as he slides the glass back across the table. "All right," he says, and he doesn't move his hand from around the glass, fingertips still brushing Louis'. 

Louis lets out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. "I know it's weird."

Harry raises his shoulders up, and then drops them with a little puff of breath. "It's not," he says, which Louis knows is a lie, but it isn't like Louis doesn't know some of Harry's secrets too. He knows what it tastes like to rim him, for a start. "When do you, uh—"

Louis taps his fingers against Harry's. "Do you know what I mean?" he asks. "Do you know what I'm asking you?" It's not just a word, for him. He's never asked anyone for this before, not ever. _Daddy_. 

"No," Harry says, voice soft. They're on the bus, and there's just the two of them in the lounge, everyone else asleep in the bunks. It's the middle of the night and they should be sleeping, but the road is moving beneath their feet and Louis feels weightless in a way that sleep won't help. "But you can tell me, right?"

"Yeah," Louis says, after a long moment. He looks down at their hands. "Thanks."

Harry laughs at that. "Don't say thanks. It's not weird. I'm not doing you a favour. It's just us, right? Like, you and me. Doing stuff. It's not weird."

Sometimes Louis doesn't understand Harry at all. But it doesn't matter, because it feels like they're two different people on exactly the same wavelength, and that's why he'd finally worked up the courage to ask. "Daddy," he says softly, and if it sounds like a plea, he's blaming the Jack. 

~*~

"It's just that—" Louis pauses as the kettle boils in the little kitchenette, pouring water into his mug, and then Harry's, and then everyone else's. He keeps his voice low, even though the TV's on and everyone but them is yelling at the telly. He's picking up the thread of a conversation they keep having in two minute bursts, in quiet corners across the tour. "I think I'd like you to be in charge, you know? And I'd call you Daddy." He scoops out the tea bags with a dirty teaspoon and dumps them in the sink, ignoring Harry's little frown which Louis knows means, _there's a bin right there_. 

Only maybe it doesn't, because Harry nudges his toes against Louis' foot. "What kind of in charge?"

Louis glances towards the FIFA tournament in the bus lounge. "I don't know. I've never done this." There are little ideas in his head, lots of them, bumping into each other and merging into one another. This whole thing keeps growing in his head and he can't find a way to make it stop. "You could hold me down," he says quickly, in a whisper. "Or hold my wrists when you fuck me."

"Right," Harry says, almost too quiet to be heard. "We can do that."

The others are waiting for their tea, and it has to be Louis' turn on the X Box at some point. His heart pounds. When he sits back down at the end of the settee, Harry's knee bumps into his, a solid reminder that Louis' here on the ground and not up in the clouds. 

He lets out a ragged breath, then grabs the controller off Liam, ignoring Liam's howl of protest. When Louis' in a room, he wants people to sit up and take notice. That's just the way things are.

~*~

The first time it happens, they're in Harry's bedroom in London, and Harry's inside of him, Louis' legs round Harry's waist as Harry rocks his hips up and fucks him. 

Harry's hand is in his hair, thumb pressed to his temple. He smells like sweat and heat and like they'd played an hour and a half of one-on-one footy in the garden with only a five minute break for orange squash and a biscuit. He presses his mouth to Louis' cheek, and Louis flushes with the damp heat of his breath as Harry kisses his need into Louis' skin. 

"Say it," Harry says, between one breath and the next, dick inside of Louis and Louis' name on his lips. "Call me it."

Louis' dick is hard and fat and leaking against his stomach. He hasn't made a move to touch himself. "Harry—"

"No," Harry says, and it's been a couple of weeks since they last talked about this. "Not _Harry_." He kisses Louis' cheek, and they've been doing this for a while. Sweat gleams across his skin, and Louis just—he _wants_. He needs. 

The word stays trapped in his throat. 

Harry presses his mouth to Louis' ear. "Call me _Daddy,_ baby. Come on."

Louis whines, his mouth to Harry's jaw. His heart pounds. "Daddy," he whispers, and Harry's hips stutter, his rhythm shifting. "God, Daddy."

He's felt weightless for so long, but Harry fucks into him, tethering him to the ground. Louis can't help but hold on, even as Harry starts to come, mouth to Louis' throat, words lost against Louis' skin.

Afterwards, Harry sucks him off, pinning Louis' wrists to the sheets with one hand. 

Louis says _Daddy_ as he comes, and thinks, _yes, yes, yes_. 

He wants more. 

~*~

"Was that—" Harry asks afterwards, tugging Louis into his side and kissing his hair. "I mean, did we—"

Louis likes to fill a room. He wants to be the biggest, the brightest, the loudest, the best. He wants to be the personality you take away with you. He wants to trick you into thinking he's the best. 

He curls into Harry's side, small and quiet and gentle, and lets himself be held. 

~*~

Harry brings them over two Styrofoam cups of tea and a couple of Wagon Wheels from the food table in the corner. Niall and Zayn are faffing about with Zayn's skateboard, and Liam's out in the corridor on the phone to his mum and dad. The room's fairly busy, but the corner where Louis is is a bit removed from everyone else. Their tour rehearsals are supposed to start in seventeen minutes.

"You're quiet," Harry says, handing him his tea.

Louis takes the cup, and blows over the top of it. It ripples and then stills. "A bit," he says. He could lie and say he's tired, but Louis' like an Energizer bunny when he's tired. He keeps on going, being more and more annoying, and he knows he's putting people's backs up, but he can't help himself. He never has been able to. But today—after last night, which should have been enough for him, and not left him breathless and wanting more—he feels kind of disjointed and out of sync, like he's stepped out of time and come back half a beat out of kilter. 

"Is it about yesterday?" Harry asks. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No" Louis says, shaking his head. He says it again when Harry looks doubtful. "It's not you. It's me. I just feel—" He takes a sip of his tea. It's too hot and scalds the roof of his mouth. "I don't know. I feel weird."

"About what we did?"

"About what I want," Louis says, in an undertone. "I don't think it's just a word for me, that's what I didn't know how to tell you before. But I didn't think it would make me feel like this."

"Like what?" Harry asks, and this is the worst place to have this conversation. They're not on their own and they can't talk and Louis wants to hide his face in Harry's shoulder and call him _Daddy_ , and none of this makes sense in his head. 

"Like I want _more_ ," Louis tells him, voice low, gaze fixed on his feet. He wiggles his toes in his Toms, and watches the canvas ripple. He rocks back on his heels. "When I asked you, I said it would be once or twice but I think I want it more. I think I want to like—I don't know, figure this shit out once and for all, but like, the two of us? We're not—the two of us—I'm not an idiot. I know I can't actually ask you to work this shit out with me. Can't ask you to help me work out what I need, 'specially not when it's a bit weird."

Harry rubs his thumb over his polystyrene cup. His thumb nail is bitten down and he's chewed on the hang nail, too. "I liked it," he says, and that isn't what Louis expected to hear, even though he knows that last night he'd made Harry come. "I don't think it means the same to me as it does to you, but it doesn't—it doesn't have to be just once or twice. We can do it more."

Sometimes, when Louis' alone, he falls asleep sucking his thumb. 

"They're calling us," Louis says. Niall's laughing at something Zayn's saying, crouching down on the floor by the skateboard. 

Harry touches Louis' elbow. "Think about it."

"Yeah," Louis says, still not looking at him. "All right."

~*~

Harry kicks the door shut behind him and presses Louis up against the wall. "Hi," he says, nuzzling at Louis' neck, mouthing at the underside of his jaw. 

Louis' still holding the pizza box with their leftovers in, and Harry takes it off him and dumps it on the table in the hall without stepping away. "Haz—"

"Please," Harry says, kissing Louis' throat. "Just let me—" He cups Louis' face in his hand, tilting his chin up. 

Rehearsals had been a laugh, but they'd gone on for ages; afterwards they'd gone out to Pizza Express, all five of them and most of the rehearsal team as well. Harry had waited until just after Niall delivered the punchline to his joke before leaning over to Louis and whispering, _can I come back to yours after this?_

Louis had nodded his _yes_ , and now they're here, in Louis' hall, the door kicked shut behind them.

"What are we—" Louis asks, but Harry shushes him, tilting their foreheads together, resting his hand on the wall behind Louis' head. He strokes at Louis' hip with his fingertips, sneaking his way under Louis' t-shirt to press his thumb into Louis' skin.

"Call me it," Harry tells him, kissing his cheek, thumb stroking circles into Louis' hip. "Come on."

Louis' breath is ragged. "Daddy." 

Harry's hard against his thigh, and his hips rock up as Louis says it, pinning Louis against the wall. "Again," he says, kissing Louis' jaw, his chin, the corner of his mouth. 

"Daddy," Louis says. He can't breathe. He wraps an arm around Harry's shoulders, fingertips splayed over the collar of his jacket. They haven't even taken their coats off. Louis' still holding his phone and his wallet in his other hand. "God, Daddy."

Harry rolls his hips up again. He kisses Louis' mouth. "Again," he breathes, into Louis' kiss. 

" _Daddy_ ," Louis says, and Harry pushes Louis' jacket down and off, and tugs his shirt off, dropping down to his knees to undo Louis' flies, and pull his jeans down to mid-thigh. 

"Again," Harry begs, hand to Louis' hip. 

Louis' dick is so hard. When did he get this hard? He feels like the only thing that's keeping him here is Harry's hand on his hip. He can't say it again, he can't. 

Harry licks at his slit, at the slick there, and Louis chokes on a sob, head tipped back against the wall. 

"Baby," Harry says, and he sounds about as desperate as Louis feels, and Louis can't breathe. 

When Harry takes Louis' dick in his mouth, Louis cries out, fingers catching in Harry's hair. 

"Daddy," Louis says, and then he can't say anything else because Harry's on his knees for him, and Louis lasts thirty seconds, if that, before he's coming in Harry's mouth and over his chin and across his cheek. 

Harry wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and leans in, pressing his cheek to Louis' hip. They stay like that, Harry on his knees, Louis' hand in his hair. Louis closes his eyes, and tries to make sense of the inside of his head. 

He can't fucking breathe, is the thing. 

~*~

They sit cross-legged on Louis' bed later, mostly naked and eating Victoria plums from a paper bag. 

"So," Harry says, after a while. 

Louis has two choices: he pretends this is just sex, or he tells the truth and tries to explain that it's so much fucking more than that, and that he doesn't have a fucking clue where it stops. 

Harry bumps his toes into Louis' shin. His second and third toes have chipped coral pink nail varnish on; Louis wraps his hand around Harry's ankle, and strokes his thumb over the arch of his foot. 

Harry keeps on kicking him, playing football against Louis' leg with an imaginary ball. His smile curves warm and bright, and it makes something twist in Louis' stomach. It feels like a single pale thread keeping him here, and Harry's holding it like the string of a balloon. 

"It's not just sex," Louis says, softly. 

Harry bumps his foot into Louis' shin again, and then a second time. He slides his hand over Louis' knee. "It's all right," he says. 

Louis isn't exactly sure that it is. He doesn't know how to put into words what's inside his head. "It's weird," he says. He doesn't feel shame; he never has, but he's also never told a single person any of this before, not ever. 

"I'm not pretending like I get this," Harry says, slowly. "I've never even—I didn't know it was a thing. But it gets me hard, so—I'm in. And it's you, so."

Louis looks down at the duvet cover, and doesn't blink. "Sometimes it doesn't get me hard," he says. "That's what I'm trying to say. Sometimes it's just—it's just something."

"Like what?" Harry keeps stroking his hand over Louis' knee. 

Louis lifts his shoulders, and then drops them. He feels tiny and unsure. "Sometimes I suck my thumb," he says, after a minute. 

"Oh," Harry says. "You don't—you never have with me."

"I never have with anyone," Louis says. "That's what I'm trying to say. It's not just me calling you Daddy. There's all this other stuff."

Harry's eyes are bright. "Do you want to?" he asks. "With me?"

"I don't know what I want. All I know is that sometimes I just want, I don't even know, to just hand over responsibility. I want to, like, feel little and looked after. Is that the weirdest thing you've ever heard?"

"No," Harry says, but Harry didn't give that any proper consideration. Louis leans over and presses his fingers into Harry's thigh. 

"Don't just say that," he says, and he presses harder with his first finger, watching the skin whiten around his touch. "Don't just say it without thinking about it. I'm trusting you."

Harry reaches over and cups Louis' face in his hand. "Can I kiss you?" 

"I'm trying to _explain_." Louis' frustration curls up inside of him like smoke from a bonfire. It catches in his throat. Harry can probably smell it on his skin. 

"And I'm trying to say it's okay." 

"Don't just kiss me," Louis says, and he wants to cry. He wants to curl up on the sheets and cry, because he doesn't understand what's going on inside his head. He doesn't get what it is he wants, and he doesn't know how he can still be the same person he was before—loud and annoying and the centre of everyone's fucking attention—and still want to be _held_ the way he does. 

Harry leans in and rests his forehead against Louis'. "What makes you feel looked after?"

"I don't know. I've never done any of this stuff before."

Harry laughs at that, but doesn't try to kiss him again. "You can suck your thumb when you're with me, if you want."

"It's weird," Louis says, and chokes on a sob. "God, what's wrong with me."

"Nothing," Harry tells him. "I swear, nothing. You're fucking perfect, god." His hands find their way into Louis' hair, and he tilts Louis' face up. "Look at me," he says. "Look at me."

"I'm looking."

"You and me, right?" Harry says, and he's not smiling anymore. Louis recognises the steely determination in his face and it doesn't come with a smile. "Best friends. You can trust me with this."

Louis lets out a breath. His limbs feel heavy. "Kiss me," he says. "Please."

Harry touches his mouth to Louis', no more than a breath. 

Louis' heart pounds, and he tips forward, hiding his face in Harry's neck. "Thank you," he says, and Harry strokes Louis' back, stroking a _best friends best friends best friends_ pattern across Louis' spine. He kisses Harry's throat, resting his cheek against his shoulder. "And this might not be the right time to say it, but that sex we had downstairs was amazing."

Harry snorts a laugh: ugly-beautiful, amazing. 

Louis' breath feels ragged and desperate in his throat, but Harry doesn't let him go.

~*~

They're watching Hot Fuzz on channel 4 a few days later when Louis crawls from one end of the sofa to the other, and sneaks his way under Harry's arm to curl into his side. 

"Babe," Harry says, which is new. _Baby, Babe_. They're new. They're little words that he didn't used to say. 

Louis doesn't say _Daddy_ out loud. His heartbeat is loud in his ears. He waits until the next advert break, and then another five minutes, and then very, very carefully, slides his thumb into his mouth. 

After a while, Harry kisses the top of his head. 

Louis doesn't move away. 

~*~

Two days later and Liam and Louis are stuck in a room with Paul being given a dressing down after setting the alarm off at the rehearsal space after sneaking out through an alarmed door. 

Louis' living off borrowed energy, typical extrovert, lapping it in like a solar panel in summer. They're performing for the crew, learning their marks for the tour, where they can run and jump and where they have to be for one song transition to the next. They've made up a new game, and broken Zayn's skateboard, and ignored all instructions to the contrary and spent five minutes doing the chicken dance instead of the choreography, because choreography is boring, and what's not boring is performing. There had been no one to perform to in the rehearsal room, so Louis had grabbed Liam and gone to find a stage. 

They'd found a group of fans outside instead, and played football with them for a whole two minutes before being dragged back inside to explain why _no exit—this door is alarmed_ didn't apply to them. 

Apparently 'we didn't think it actually meant alarmed' wasn't an excuse. 

When they get back to the room where Zayn and Niall and Harry are waiting for them, Niall's found a pogo stick from somewhere, Zayn's eating a sandwich and facetiming Perrie, and Harry's leaning up against the wall and texting. 

Louis goes over and tries to steal his phone. 

"You've got your own phone," Harry says, without rancour. He doesn't try to grab it back, and Louis commandeers it and texts Harry's mum back, signing off with way too many kisses. 

Harry just looks amused. 

"What're you up to later?" Louis asks, not looking up from Harry's phone. He types in, _can I call you daddy and will you fuck me xxx_ into a blank text message and shows the screen to Harry. 

Harry deletes the text. He nods. "My place or yours?"

"Either," Louis says. It doesn't matter. He doesn't care. 

"Mine," Harry says. "I changed the sheets."

Louis nods his agreement, and Harry runs his hand down Louis' arm, hand resting loosely around his wrist. His fingertips brush Louis' pulse point, and Louis taps his heel against the skirting board, a relentless rhythm underpinning a song he can't quite capture. 

"Lou," Harry says. 

"Yeah," Louis says. Liam calls him over to have a go on the pogo stick, but he bumps his foot into Harry's twice over before walking away. 

~*~

"Do you like that?" Harry asks later, three fingers crooked inside of Louis' arse, lube dripping down onto Harry's clean sheets as Harry curls his fingers. 

"Yeah," Louis manages. Harry's pinned him to the bed with his other hand splayed across Louis' hip. 

"Good," Harry tells him, slowly sliding his fingers out a bit, and then in again. "You're being such a good boy."

Louis cries out at that, at the unexpected feeling that trembles across his skin and sneaks inside of his head and takes hold. His toes curl. 

"Good boy," Harry says again, and it's there again, that desperation inside of Louis, that frantic, burning need to have him say it again, and again, and again. "You're being such a good little boy for Daddy."

Louis can't keep still. Harry's hand isn't enough to keep him there anymore; he whines, low down in his throat, a desperate, cut-off wish that he can't say out loud. 

"Daddy's good little boy," Harry says again, and they haven't talked about this; they haven't got this far when they've talked, but Harry's gone one step ahead, two steps ahead and he's taken them to the right place. He's gone the right way. 

" _Daddy_." Louis' dick is leaking against his stomach, fat and hard. "Daddy, please. Please." He's probably babbling. It's too much. He's going to come just from three fingers inside of him and Harry talking to him. 

"That's right, baby," Harry tells him, fingers fucking in and out of him, slick-wet and slow. "You're doing so well, being so good. So good for Daddy."

When Louis comes, he comes with his cock untouched, Harry's mouth pressed to his thigh. 

Afterwards, Harry wanks off onto Louis' dick, and it isn't the fucking that Louis had thought about, but he's boneless and sleepy and buzzing from what it felt like to be called Harry's good little boy, so he doesn't think it matters. 

Harry flops down beside him, and wipes Louis down with a baby wipe from the packet in his top drawer. The whole time Louis' known him, Harry's used wet wipes to clean himself up after sex, because Harry can never be bothered to stand up and wet a flannel. It plays on Louis' mind sometimes, that packet in his drawer. The travel packs in Harry's suitcase on tour. 

Being looked after.

When Harry's done cleaning Louis up, he wraps an arm around Louis' waist. Louis rolls onto his side lazily, even as Harry presses himself to Louis' back, the big spoon and more besides. 

"That all right?" he asks, kissing Louis' neck, and his shoulder, and behind his ear. 

"Uh-huh," Louis says. "More than all right."

"Good," Harry says. "I'm glad." He kisses Louis' neck again. "You can suck your thumb if you want to, you know. Or anything else you want to do."

Louis nods, but doesn't make any move to put his thumb in his mouth. Not yet. "Thanks."

"I mean it," Harry says. He kisses Louis' ear. It tickles and Louis wriggles, trying not to laugh. 

Harry blows a raspberry against Louis' skin, and it's altogether adult and little all at the same time, and Louis says, _Daddy_ , even before he's thought about it. 

Harry's arm tightens around Louis' waist. "That's my good little boy," he says, after a pause. "It's okay," he whispers, after another pause, and Louis lets out a breath.

~*~

Louis waits until the lights are off and then a bit longer before he sneaks his thumb into his mouth. 

"Good boy," Harry murmurs, even though Louis had thought he was asleep. 

Louis feels hot all over, but doesn't take his thumb out of his mouth. 

~*~

The first night of their tour ends with them on a total fucking high. They run off stage, security leading them down a maze of corridors to the exit where their coaches are waiting. Harry runs in front of him, whooping, and Louis can't help but shout too, adrenaline coursing through him, sweat making his shirt stick to him. Harry reaches behind him to make a grab for Louis' hand, and Louis whoops again. 

The whole fucking arena screaming for them; Louis wants to scream and shout and fuck and live in this feeling forever. 

~*~

"Fuck me," Harry gasps, trying to tug Louis closer by reaching behind him and making a grab for Louis' thigh. 

Louis bites down on his shoulder, rolling a condom on. He pushes Harry against the bathroom wall, pressing his mouth to Harry's spine as he lubes himself up with hotel shower gel. It's not enough, it's not good enough for lube, but Harry begs him for it, and they're both riding the high of the first show; Louis slides on in with a loud, ragged groan. 

"Yes, _fuck_ ," Harry says, pushing back onto him. "Harder."

Louis rocks up into him, not caring about finesse. Harry begs for it and Louis' bollock-deep inside of him; it's fucking fantastic. Harry's fucking fantastic. 

He reaches round to find Harry's dick, but Harry's wanking himself off already, hand a blur. Louis isn't going to last long. The noise of the arena, the _energy_ —he's almost there already.

"Gonna come," Harry tells him, a couple of minutes later. The bathroom's steamed up from the shower they haven't bothered to turn off or climb under yet; sweat runs down his skin. 

"Yeah," Louis says, biting down on Harry's shoulder again. He feels Harry's orgasm shudder through him, and he's so tight around Louis' dick that Louis can't help but come too, his orgasm star-bright and loud. 

Afterwards, Harry stumbles them into the shower and kisses him under the spray, until the adrenaline's lessened into something easier, something less sharp, something quieter. 

Louis wraps his arms around Harry's waist and kisses him again. 

~*~

Louis' tired. He sits in the open V of Harry's legs, head on Harry's shoulder. The TV's on quietly, endless Top Gear repeats showing on Dave. They've been travelling for days and this is their first hotel room in over a week. There are four hours before they need to be at the venue, and Louis' too tired to do anything other than just sit here, curled up with Harry in their room. The last two nights on the bus he'd not been able to sleep. No specific reason, just endless insomnia. He'd rattled his way through their interviews that morning, jittery and off the wall. 

He just wants to turn everything off, just for a bit. 

Harry kisses Louis' jaw, and slides a hand down Louis' chest to cup his dick through his jeans. 

Louis makes a soft sound in his throat and tilts his hips up, just a little, just enough to say, _yes_. 

"You want Daddy to touch you, baby?"

Louis is too exhausted to do anything other than murmur his _please_. He moves his hand down to try and undo his jeans, but Harry pushes his hand away. 

"Let me," he says. "I'm going to take care of you for a bit. Daddy's going to look after you."

Louis' hard, and he doesn't even remember which part did it for him. Harry stands him up, taking off Louis' clothes, piece by piece, and Louis feels limp, like a piece of spaghetti. Like without Harry to keep him up, he'd flop down on the floor and just stay there. They've got four hours before they need to be at the venue, gearing themselves up to perform, but he can't think about that right now. Especially not as Harry's pulling him back down onto the bed, tugging him close. Harry's shirtless but still in his jeans, and it feels weird to be naked in his arms like this, but Harry won't let him help Harry off with his trousers. 

Harry kisses his forehead, his temple, the end of his nose. He licks at Louis' lips, and Louis smiles into it, soft and warm. When Harry wraps his hand around Louis' dick, it feels like a natural extension of his kiss, and Louis rocks up into it, shifting a little so that he's more comfortable, curled up in Harry's arms. 

"I've been looking all this stuff up on line," Harry says, after a minute where he's moved his hand on Louis' dick endlessly slowly. He presses a kiss to Louis' temple. "There's all this stuff you can get, like dummies and—"

"No," Louis says immediately. His heart pounds, and he tries to pull away. Christ, _dummies_. What the hell has Harry been looking at? "No, Harry—"

"Shush," Harry says, kissing him. "Don't get upset, baby. You don't have to want them. You don't have to want anything. I'm just—I was looking, all right? I want to do this right for you. I want to be okay with whatever you need, Lou."

"Not that, though. That's so weird—"

Harry shushes him with another kiss. His hand is still on Louis' dick, warm and secure. "You don't have to want it. Just so long as you know that whatever you do want, you can ask for and I'll be all right with it, okay? Just so long as you know that. Whatever you want is okay."

Panic settles in his stomach like an ache. Dummies, Christ. He can only imagine the sites Harry's been looking at on the Internet. How can he possibly say he's okay with this? Louis has _been_ to those sites. He doesn't want half of that stuff, and the half he does want he's never, ever asking for. All he wants from what they're doing is to figure out the inside of his own head, and to get a little bit of what he needs. Just the little bit of comfort he gets in Harry's arms; that's enough. He feels like he's floating away, and not in a good way. He grabs Harry's arm, desperate to feel something solid beneath his fingertips. 

Harry kisses him then, gentle and slow. "I've got you," he says, in between kisses. "I've got you, Lou." 

God, he's such a fucking fuck-up. A sob catches in the back of his throat. 

Harry cups his cheek in his hand, and tilts their foreheads together. "Best friends," he says. "Forever and ever." His other hand is still wrapped around Louis' dick. He's still stroking him. 

Louis nods at that. He slides a hand into Harry's hair, keeping him close. "Best friends."

"Call me it," Harry says softly, still stroking Louis' dick. 

Louis hisses in a breath. 

"I want it," Harry says. "Please, Lou."

" _Daddy_." His voice hitches. "My daddy."

When Harry kisses him this time, Louis kisses him back, breathless and desperate. 

~*~

On stage he feels like he's on fire. He's everywhere, hanging off Liam's back, dancing with Niall, arm around Zayn's shoulders. He's buzzing and on top of the world. He lifts his arm in the air and the arena screams. He wears it like a badge of honour, that _noise_ , that burning appreciation. He sings and the crowd sings with him. 

In the tiny, cramped bus toilet, later, Louis sits on the closed toilet lid with Harry standing in between his legs, his jeans pushed down to mid-thigh. Harry's iPhone is perched perilously on a wad of toilet roll in the tiny sink, playing music at a low volume so no one hears the details of what they're doing. Louis sucks him off with Harry's hands in his hair, Harry whispering, _such a good boy for daddy_. _Such a good little boy_ , and afterwards, Louis starts to wank himself off, but Harry takes over, kissing him through it and letting Louis come in the palm of Harry's hand. 

He rests his forehead against Harry's stomach, hands on Harry's hips, until Niall bangs on the door and reminds them that some of the other people on the coach actually want to do a shit at some point that evening. They file out to Niall's pointed silence, and it's only when he's inside and the door's locked that he calls after them, "It smells like jizz in here, dickheads. Can't you have sex somewhere else?"

So, yeah. It's not like the two of them were ever a secret, but they haven't ever been a couple, either. Louis isn't sure where that leaves them, but Harry just bumps his hip into Louis', and grins. 

"All right?" He says, and Louis waits a beat before nodding his _yeah_. 

~*~

They have four days off, and head back to London for the duration. There have been two days of slightly awkward band conversations about what Harry and Louis having sex means for the band, and Louis has had to sort of apologise to everyone at least once for being bad-tempered. It's just that he and Harry haven't even talked about what the two of them are yet, and the only thing Louis' got any time for working out right now is the tangle inside of his own head. He doesn't want to deal with anything else. There isn't room for anything more, but at least Harry gets that. Liam just keeps wanting to talk about what it _means_ , and Zayn doesn't want to talk about it because he doesn't see what business it is of anyone else's other than theirs, and Niall is happy for them so long as they don't fuck in the toilet anymore. What potentially coming out in the future might mean for the band is the least of his issues when he wants to call Harry _Daddy_ and fuck up into his fist whilst Harry tells him he's being a good little boy. 

He just doesn't want to deal with the rest of it just yet, that's all. 

The two of them get back to London—and Harry's flat—way after midnight. Louis crawls into Harry's bed in just his pants. "If we have to have one more conversation where what we do with our dicks is the topic under discussion, Haz, I'm going to drown myself in the Thames. Or a puddle. Whichever's nearest."

Harry leans over to kiss his forehead. "Four days where we can just do stuff with our dicks and not talk about them, Lou."

Louis _humphs_ and hides his face in the pillow. The last couple of days have been stressful because they've all been tired and in need of a break from touring; even Liam grabbing his wrist and sneaking him off for some illicit adventures hadn't been enough to break the monotony. He fucking loves his job, but it's hard when he's exhausted and just wants an actual bed for more than one night at a time. 

Anyway, all these band conversations they've had about how Louis likes to put his dick places that Harry is, haven't come close to what he's actually thinking about all the time, which is that he wants to be treated like a little boy. That's one thing that he's never telling anyone other than Harry.

Well, sometimes he thinks about the fact that he and Harry haven't actually talked about whether what they do constitutes an actual relationship or just friendship with really fucking great benefits, too. 

Harry disappears to the kitchen, and comes back with two glasses of water. He gets naked and crawls into the bed next to Louis, and taps out a _hello_ with his fingertips against Louis' thigh. 

"I got you something," he says. 

Louis stops hiding his face in the pillow, and rolls onto his side, facing Harry. "A present?"

Harry flushes, just a little, and reaches down the side of the bed to come back with a bag. A Mothercare bag. 

"Fuck, Harry, no—"

"Just look at it, all right? I've got the receipt, so I can take it back if you hate it or don't want it or whatever."

Inside the bag is a soft toy dog, cream all over with big paws and a brown spot over one eye. The tag says, _suitable from birth_. 

Sometimes Louis feels like he's floating, and sometimes he feels like he's so rooted to the ground that it's like he's a part of the earth, and right now he feels so heavy he might actually cry. 

He runs his fingertips over the dog's paws. He's so soft. He ducks his head and presses his nose to the top of the dog's head, and squeezes his eyes tight shut. 

He wants it so much his heart hurts. 

"Sorry," Harry says, his voice hesitant. He shifts a little so that he can wrap an arm around Louis' shoulders. "I wanted so much to get you something but I didn't know what, and—did I get it wrong?"

Louis can't speak. He shakes his head instead. 

"So...I can take the tag off?"

"Yeah." Louis twists into Harry's side, hiding his face in Harry's neck. "Best friends."

Harry kisses the top of his head, and reaches over for the dog. There's a pair of nail scissors on the bedside table—Louis doesn't want to think about whether they're there on purpose or not—and he cuts the tag off and hands it back to Louis, who doesn't know what the fuck he's supposed to do with a soft toy dog when he's a fucking adult and not a little kid. 

"You like him?" Harry asks. He still sounds so hesitant and unsure and this is all too much for Louis. It's _too much_. They're so famous and doing so well and all he wants right now is to suck his thumb and call Harry _Daddy_. 

"God, why am I so fucked up?" Louis keep stroking his thumbs over the dog's ears. They're so soft. 

"You're not," Harry says. "You're really not. There's seriously nothing wrong with wanting to be looked after." 

Louis wants to be looked after more than anything else in the whole fucking world. It claws at his chest sometimes, this _need_ , this want. He begs for it but never says it out loud. Not until now. "Nobody else wants to be looked after like this, though." He's stroking his puppy now, fingertips running over his ears and down over his back. Baby soft. 

"Some people like to be dressed in rubber and spanked. Or whipped. Or get off on being told what to do." Harry says. "Everyone needs looking after in their own way. This is yours." He rubs his nose over Louis' biceps. "And maybe mine, too." He reaches over and covers Louis' hand with his own. "You think of a name for him, yet?"

"Patch," Louis says, voice soft. "His name's Patch."

"Good name," Harry says, tilting his chin up so that he can kiss Louis' neck, just below Louis' ear. "You tired, baby?"

Louis nods. He's so tired all of a sudden. He curls up under the bed covers with Patch tucked into his front, and Harry pressed to his back. "Thanks," he says, after a bit. The lights are off and the room is in darkness, the only noise the crinkle of the bedclothes and Harry's breath. "For Patch."

Harry rubs his nose over Louis' hair. "You're welcome," he says, because Harry's always polite. Then Harry presses a kiss to his shoulder. "Daddy's good little boy."

"Jesus," Louis says, half-hard. He shifts a little, hip digging into the mattress. Harry's hard against his arse. "How can that get you hard?"

"You get me hard," Harry says. "You fancy a go, or do you want to sleep?"

Louis' still hugging his new toy puppy. Right now, shame's something that other people feel. "Do I have to put Patch down?"

Harry smiles into his skin. It makes Louis shiver. Harry runs his hands down Louis' sides, and down to his underwear, cupping his dick in his hand. "No, baby." He runs his fingers over Louis' erection, and Louis rocks his hips up a bit, just a little. Harry presses his mouth to Louis' ear. "How do you fancy riding me?"

"Fuck," Louis manages, succinctly. 

"Hey," Harry says mildly. His fingertips scratch over Louis' hipbone. "Good little boys don't know that word."

"Suppose that makes me a bad little boy," Louis says, tipping his head back so that he's resting on Harry's shoulder. He wants to suck his thumb. God, what the fuck is going on in his head. 

"Suppose it does," Harry agrees. He sucks a bruise into the hollow of Louis' throat, pushing down Louis' underwear with one hand. "How about I finger you open, really slowly, and then you ride me?"

Louis hugs Patch to his chest. "Yeah," he says. 

"Magic word," Harry says, reaching over to the bedside table for the lube. 

Louis blushes red, and doesn't even know why. He slides his thumb into his mouth, and talks round it. "Please, Daddy."

Harry lets out a long, ragged breath, and draws Louis in, anchoring him with an arm over his stomach. "So good," he says, stroking his finger over Louis' hole, lube slick. "Such a good little boy."

Louis keeps his thumb in his mouth and whines around it as Harry fingers him open. 

By the time Harry's done with him, he feels like the only thing keeping him together is sheer will. He's in pieces, shattered apart and broken and he can't keep quiet, crying out as Harry crooks his fingers inside of him, lube dripping out of him and running down his thigh. He begs, "Please, Daddy, please," and he doesn't know what he's asking for. Harry gives it to him, though, fingers and lube and kisses—good little boy kisses—and it's taking Louis apart, piece by piece. His dick leaks and he's given up sucking his thumb, breath coming in loud pants, Patch clutched to his chest. 

Then Harry's fingers are gone, and he's kneeling up over Harry with Patch in his hand, and Harry's hands on his hips, and Louis' sinking down onto Harry's dick with lube-slick, familiar ease. 

He's so fucking full. It's gorgeous. It's never been quite like this before, though.

"Oh god, Louis," Harry's fingers tighten on his hips, and Louis wants bruises; he wants fingertips pressed into his skin, wants echoes of this to stay with him for days. He pushes down, wants to take more. His thighs tremble already, and he knows Harry can feel it in his fingertips, can tell by the way his grip tightens. 

"Tell me," Louis begs. He pushes down onto Harry's dick, but he's already shaking. "God, Daddy, please, my daddy."

Harry fucks up into him, fingertip echoes bruising his skin, and says, "Louis, baby. My good boy. Such a good little boy for Daddy."

Something inside of Louis shifts then, something tiny, something real. "I love you," he says, before he can think better of it, before he can stop himself. It's like lightning is fracturing his insides to pieces, and he doesn't know if he's breaking apart or burning up or both. 

Harry's rhythm falters, but he reaches for Louis' hand, sliding his fingers into Louis' and tugging him near enough to kiss his knuckles. "You're my everything," he says, fucking up into him, and Louis lets out a cry he didn't know he was holding in. "Louis, god. Everything."

It's not an _I love you_ , but maybe it's more. " _Daddy_."

Harry comes first. Louis is lube-slick and open; he slides off him with awkward ease. He's about to lie back down on the sheets and wank himself off, but Harry stops him, making him stay where he is, up on his knees. 

"Want you to come on me," Harry says, shifting up onto his elbows so that he can wrap his hand around Louis' dick. That angle must be painful, but Harry doesn't make any move to shift again. "Want you come on my face. Going to look after you so well, Lou, you have no idea. Going to give you everything. Everything you need and everything you want, baby. My baby boy. My good little boy." 

And—Louis can't. He _can't_. He sobs out Harry's name as he starts to come, rocking his hips up and coming over Harry's chin and mouth and cheeks. He legs tremble and he can't breathe and it's all too fucking much. It's too much. 

He lies on the sheets with his eyes closed and Patch clutched to his chest, and tries to remember to breathe in and out and in again. 

Harry pads back from the bathroom after a minute, complete with a new pack of baby wipes. He cleans Louis up and then crawls into bed next to him, plastering himself to Louis' side. 

"You all right?"

Louis considers it for a moment. "Yeah," he says. 

Harry curls even closer into Louis' side. "Love you," he says, but he's practically asleep as he says it, so Louis doesn't think it counts. 

He kisses Patch's soft fur instead. His teddy. Well, his puppy. Harry went into a shop and picked this out for him, and paid money for it, and then brought it back here for him. It's not just friends with amazing benefits for him anymore, if it ever was. It's a hundred times more than that; it's everything. 

Harry's everything. 

~*~

In the morning, Harry tugs the duvet off and onto the floor, and gets Louis to lie down right in the middle of the bed. Louis' still clutching Patch to him, and the discovery that Patch's nose is his softest part means that Louis keeps rubbing Patch's nose over his chin. 

"Going to kiss you everywhere," Harry tells him, and starts with Louis' ankles, mouth pressed to the bridge of his foot. "My good boy."

He stops at Louis' dick to suck him off, pinning Louis' free hand to the bed. Louis sucks his thumb and whimpers around it, and comes quietly and easily. Harry carries on wanking him afterwards until he's trembling and over-sensitive, and then kisses his way up Louis' chest until he's crawled over Louis and kissed him round his thumb, spit-slick and hot. 

Louis loses the thumb after a while, wrapping his arms around Harry's neck, and they kiss for ages, until they're both rutting up against each other and Louis' barely clinging on to Patch any more. 

He tries to slide a hand down between them, but Harry shakes his head. "Want to come like this," he says, and cups Louis' cheek in his hand. "Want to come from kissing you." He kisses Louis again. "Call me it again."

Louis lets out a ragged breath. "Daddy. My daddy."

"Yeah," Harry says, and his cock drags across Louis' hip. "Feel what you do to me, fuck."

Louis wants to come. He wants to come all over himself, and have Harry come all over him too. "You know what you do to me."

Harry mouths at his jaw, at his throat, at the corner of his mouth. "I know," he says, in between kisses. "It's so hot."

Louis still isn't sure that wanting to be Harry's good little boy should be as hot as it is, but maybe that doesn't matter. He's still holding on to Patch's paw, arms around Harry's neck. Harry can probably feel Louis' puppy resting against his back. It shouldn't be hot, but it _is_. He finds it so fucking hot. 

"Daddy," Louis says again, because his vocabulary for what he wants is small. Like him. He wants to feel little and small and looked after and _Harry's_. "Just want to be your little boy."

"I want that too," Harry tells him, rocking his hips down and grinding his dick against Louis' hip. "Want that so much."

When he comes, it's with Louis' name on his lips, and Louis follows soon after, dazed. 

~*~

Later on, they drink cups of tea on Harry's patio, eating dry Weetos out of bowls because there isn't any milk and neither of them can be bothered to go to the shop. Louis scrolls through Twitter and texts his mum and Niall and Snapchats his dry cereal to Liam and Zayn and Lottie. 

"You all right?" Harry asks, bumping his foot into Louis' under the table. His toes curl over Louis' ankle for a moment, his flip-flop forgotten. It's not warm enough for flip-flops, nor bare feet outside, but the morning sun's deceptive. It's bright-cold and early.

Louis considers for a moment. "Happy," he says, finally.

Harry smiles at that, toes flexing. "Me too." 

"Even though I'm into all this weird as fuck shit?"

Harry rolls his eyes. "Haven't we established that I'm into it too, yet?"

Louis hums at that. There's still stuff in his head he hasn't put into words yet. It all links into the same kinds of things, though: he wants to feel safe, and loved, and looked after. And little. "I keep thinking I'm going to tell you something that puts you off."

"Like what?" Harry scoops up a handful of Weetos and drops them into his mouth. Some of them scatter on the floor around them. Typical. "I've been to those websites. I'm probably unshockable."

The thing with Louis is, he tends to take things like that as a personal challenge. "I'll find something," he says, darkly. 

"The only thing I don't like the look of are those latex gimp masks with the baby faces painted on," Harry says. "I mean, if you like those we can probably work something out, but the latex kind of freaks me out. Not a big fan of latex in general, to be honest. Condoms excepted." He shoots Louis a potentially complicated look from under his lashes. 

"Um," Louis says. "No, I don't want one of those."

"Are you sure?" Harry asks, and Louis feels weightless again, but this time it's because Harry's expression is genuinely curious, and because he suddenly knows that if he said he wanted one, Harry would find a way to let him have it. That's a complication Louis can't undo.

"We can steer clear of latex," he promises instead, because that's one thing that isn't on his mental list of possibilities. There's other stuff on there that he's building up to, but not latex. He likes things that are soft and gentle. 

"What about toys?"

Louis makes a face. "Sex toys?"

"I was more thinking along the lines of, you know, Barbies and train sets. Whatever you want, really."

"Did you have a Barbie growing up?"

"Obviously," Harry says. "Me and Gemma shared, but at least two of them were actually mine. Still got them, I reckon. Mum doesn't chuck things out."

Louis nods, and pokes at the remains of his Weetos. 

"Well?" Harry prompts. 

"I think I—" He knows he's going pink. "I don't think I'm going to secretly go out and buy up Hamley's. It's stuff like—it's things like Patch I want. Soft things. And I don't think I need like, a toy box full or anything. It's not like that. I don't need lots."

"Good choice on my part, then," Harry says. He shifts his patio chair so that it's closer to Louis', and reaches over to take Louis' hand. "This is all right, isn't it?"

Louis threads his fingers through Harry's. It all feels a bit new and overwhelming, if he's quite honest; the conversations with Zayn and Liam and Niall have sort of given their relationship a formal structure it didn't have before, and then all of the other stuff that they've been doing makes everything even more complicated too. "This isn't going to change us, is it?"

"Shouldn't think so," Harry says, considering. "Anyway, you want to be looked after and I want to do the looking after, so I think we fit together quite well."

"Like, opposites attract, but not."

"Yep, like, I'm the funny one, and you're the not funny one."

Louis splutters. "Take that back, pun-head."

"I'm properly funny," Harry says. "Why did the baboon ask the giraffe 'why the long face?'"

"Oh no, Harry."

"No, it's actually funny. Because he thought his neck was his face."

Louis hides his face in his hands. "You're awful."

"Stay here today and watch Bake Off with me. I got them all off iTunes."

"Sounds terrible," Louis says, but the two of them are a sort of tangled web at the moment. There's too much that's gone unsaid that needs saying; Zayn and Liam and Niall think that they're together and they haven't even talked about it properly. Louis is kinky as fuck, all things considered, and Harry's either willing to go along with it, or is secretly as kinky as Louis, and Louis doesn't know which one it is yet, at least not for sure; he's got an idea. 

"It's perfect, shut up," Harry says. His fingers flex in Louis'. "We'll just take over the sofa, you can bring Patch down if you want to, we'll watch TV. It'll be great."

Louis swallows, and it's only Harry's hand that's keeping him here, pinned to the earth. "Yeah?" He has to clear his throat. "That would be okay?"

"Yeah," Harry says softly. His eyes are warm. "Course it would."

"Right," Louis agrees, but neither of them make a move towards going back inside. The sun's still bright in the sky, and they're here, together. Louis trembles with possibilities, with potential, with want. "I am in love with you, you know," he says instead. "Just in case that wasn't clear."

"Same," Harry says, from behind a pair of dickhead sunglasses that he's suddenly magicked up from who knows where. "I'm in love with you too."

Louis celebrates by pulling the stupidest face he can come up with, and Harry echoes it, mouth wide, tongue out, laughing from behind his stupid sunglasses. 

"Monkey face," Harry demands, and Louis pulls it for him, cheeks puffed, ears caught between his fingertips. He crosses his eyes for good measure, and Harry snorts his laughter, leaning in to kiss Louis' mouth as he lets out his puffed cheeks in one long _ohhh_. 

He puts his hand on Harry's knee, and squeezes. 

~*~

Louis falls asleep after lunch with his cheek pillowed on Harry's thigh, his thumb in his mouth, Patch hugged to his chest. He wakes up to John Waite winning Bake Off, and Harry's hand in his hair, lazily stroking his temple with his thumb. 

He tries to move, but Harry shushes him, and he sinks back down, still sleepy. It's easier to stay where he is. Nicer, too.

~*~

Later on, Louis licks him out, Harry on his hands and knees on the bed, Louis's hands on his hips. His hair's still damp from the shower, and Harry tastes like soap and water and musk and heat. He takes Harry to pieces with his tongue, and afterwards, Harry comes in Louis' hand and sinks down onto the sheets, breathless. Louis covers his body with his own, and bites down on Harry's shoulder. He slides his own dick down between Harry's legs, in between Harry's thighs. He's already lubed up, and Louis adds more so that Harry's thighs are slick. 

"Tighter," he begs, because he wants more, and Harry squeezes his legs together. "Fuck." It's so tight, fucking in between Harry's thighs, and he fucking loves this. He's always loved it, but Harry's the only person he's been with who's ever seemed that into it. 

He comes all over the back of Harry's legs and over the curve of his arse, and he strokes his hand through the mess afterwards, smearing it across Harry's skin. 

"Love it when you're a mess," he says, leaning in to kiss the corner of Harry's mouth. 

"Yeah, yeah," Harry says, pillowing his cheek on his hands so that Louis can get a better angle to kiss him. "You just like it because it's naughty."

Louis hums his appreciation of that particular line of thought into Harry's kiss. "Do I?"

"My naughty little boy," Harry says, with a lazy smile. He seems well-fucked and boneless, even though technically he's neither. He holds out an arm for Louis to sneak under, and rubs his nose against Louis' as Louis shifts closer so that they're pressed together all down one side. They're so close they're sharing breath. If Louis loses concentration, his eyes unfocus and he can see two of Harry. He's tired. 

"Yeah," he says, finally. 

"Except you're not my bad little boy, are you?" Harry smoothes Louis' hair away from his face. "My good little boy, Lou. Daddy's good little boy."

Louis' eyes flutter shut. God, he needs this so much. "Yeah," he says, tilting his chin up enough that he can catch Harry's mouth in a kiss. "Your good little boy."

~*~

He wakes up in the middle of the night to the bedclothes hanging off the side of the bed and Harry sprawled out on his back with his arms above his head. He seems even younger when he's asleep, cheek pillowed against his shoulder. 

Louis rearranges the bedclothes over the two of them. Patch has fallen out of bed too; Louis can see him lying on the floor on his side. 

He rolls his eyes, and climbs out of bed to go and get him. He sits him on the pillow next to his head, and curls up under the duvet, pressed to Harry's side. 

He drops a kiss to Harry's shoulder, and closes his eyes. 

[END].


End file.
